Follow up from Part 3: Hội An.
The road back remains depressing even by night. The construction fields are all lit and the city itself has turned into a neon paradise. The taxi almost gets us into a collision and ultimately requires my offline map assistance to get to the destination. I finally make it to the Frangipani Hotel – it is a cute hotel, but I can’t help wondering how long it will remain in business. The tiny building is surrounded by future skyscrapers. Apparently, there is a happily singing rooster here too…
Once arrived, I touch base with Tram, who can’t seem to be able to find the hotel either. After walking a bit, I finally find her and her car. It seems legit and I’m only carrying cash anyway…
After my Tripadvisor suggestion get rebuffed by a dry “It’s crap!“, she takes me to a seafood restaurant, away from any tourists. Indeed, I’m the only Caucasian in this gigantic open-walled place. There must be close to 400 seats in there. Even if the aquariums filled with live creatures look clean, the raw food warnings on the books remain anchored in my head, and even more so with seafood. So I play it safe with scallops and squid – the dishes are amazingly fresh and the scenery, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Each employee has a dedicated function and the bus boy cannot take an order to the kitchen.
The most surreal scene is the human chain formed by seven of these bus boys, carrying crates of dirty plastic plates for washing.
The evening is punctuated by Tram’s quirky behaviour, from commenting on a group of girls who appeared to have had cosmetic surgery around the eyes, to her hailing an ice cream vendor, only to be sorely disappointed when she notices it was durian-flavoured.
Her English is remarkable – she works as a stock trader in Singapore, but came back for a bit to take care of her raging parents. The foreign money may explain the car, but I also suspect some family money as well, which may explain her pitch perfect English. Still no explanation for the Gemini tattoo on her right wrist, though.
She then takes me for atour of the historic Danang, which my 20-hour stint in the city would not have allowed. She also complains about the wild and vivid organisation going on in “her” city. She mentions that she previously owned a bar, which had live performances and open mics, but has since been torn down to make way for a more profitable venture, surrounded by loud music and bro bars.
Looks like I am not the only one complaining about the changes.
It was a surprisingly great evening, with a friendly local vibe, contrasting with the overall horrible one i had so far. Thank you for rehabilitating “your” city, Tram!
It’s still early, yet I need to force myself in bed. Tomorrow, the alarm is set at 5am and I’ll finally get to see the sun rise over the Southern China Sea!
5am… aargh! I never thought I would wake up that earlier on holidays than I can go to bed when I word…
The walk to the nearby beach is shocking – a gigantic electric billboard lits blindingly the surrounding area while some techno music (not sure if Viethouse is a thing?) can be heard blasting in the distance, reminding everyone that the party must carry on until sunlight?
The number of people converging toward the sea is otherworldly – by the dancing lights of the near-empt discofloor, families, couples, elderly and youngsters are all there, swimming running, exercising.. Near the parking lot, two group of elderly ladies are practising tai chi to the competing soundtrack. Lifeguards are overseeing the operations in the dawn twilight from the relative comfort of their circular bamboo basket boat. I even spot some photographers, locals and commercial, attempting to capture the insanity of this magical moment.
The early morning light shyly engulfs the scenery and I can’t resisting setting a foot in the water. Much to my surprise, it is warm enough to me not to back away immediately. Shame I’m carrying too much electronics, or i would have jumped in and embraced the sea.
On the walk back to the hotel, I spot half a dozen older ladies, crouching by the side of the already busy road. They are trying attempting to sell a handful of fish, probably freshly caught from this morning. Their backs rest on the boarded walls of a construction site, waiting for customers that will soon be replaced by the proud owners of lavish condos and tourists. The times are changing and they don’t seem to change faster than here in Danang.
Can’t help but feeling for that era being so aggressively pushed away to the confines of history.
Once at the hotel, the night men who had been sleeping lightly by the door when I left are now fully awaken and active, preparing breakfast for the early risers. This boutique hotel is unlikely to survive long, much like the roadside fishmongers. I wonder if they know. I wonder if they care… I hear a rooster singing nearby next to the Zen hotel across the road. Talk about false advertising…
All packed and all fed, I head to the train station. I could find the official website to buy a ticket, so I decided to come in early. I’ve always liked the effervescence of a train station and can’t wait to see Vietnam’s take on it.
I get a message from Bar, who’s also headed for an Easy Rider bike. He opted for the Huy Van Pass, while the train will follow the coastline. I only hope this trip of his will be less eventful that in Dalat!
While there is no indication in English, the person at the counter speaks decent English and I get my ticket in no time. There are sockets and free wifi – the wait should be alright!
I notice a familiar face among the various waves of passengers floating through the station – the British woman from the Hoi An photowalk. Road coincidences are starting to happen! She is headed North for a 9ish hour ride. We discuss a bit about our respective travels – a very disposable conversation, for disposable road meets. But it feels good to be two in the unknown, especially when that unknown is a Vietnamese train. Being there early, I was able to spot the ballet of inbound and inbound passengers, how the train admin only opens the doors when strictly necessary. I offer the guidance I received about Hanoi to the London girl, and the madness following the opening of the gates is all the farewell we will share.
Once on board, I’m delighted to see that I am sitting next to a fabulous latino American from Arizona, Paul Rodiguez. He narrates his adventures in the commercial aviation & hotel industry; his patience seems to know no limit.
The guide had hinted at sitting on the other side of the train to enjoy the scenery – it would have been pointless anyway, as the few locals on that obviously touristy coach insist on keeping the blinds closed to catch a nap. I do venture on the train in search of an opening, and marvel at the secluded beaches and creeks on the way. No picture from the train could do any justice to such majesty.
The other coaches, in the not-so-touristy parts of the train, do also procure a scenery of their own.
We exchange email addresses with Paul, who’s also staying in Hue, prior to embarking to Bangkok – chances to meet again are nill, but our hours-long conversations leave me with a smile on my face.
This smile is however quickly brushed away by the cab, insisting on a flat fee to drop me at the hotel. While the difference it would ultimately make is negligible, it’s just the constant hustle that it wearing down on me. The day’s been long this this morning, and not worth arguing about.
Next stop: Hue.